We Wander These Streets So Aimlessly
by lea da g
Summary: Hollywood Undead story with OFC


Drunken slurs and yells filled the air of the pub, causing me and my best friend to strain our voices to be heard by one another.

"Yo, there's a show at the TLA tomorrow night. Wanna hit it up?" Trish yelled over the sounds of the pub.

I nodded and pointed to the door, leaving a 20 on the counter before the two of us stood to leave. As we were leaving. a group of men were attempting to enter. One of them held the door as we left, but made no attempt to enter.

"Hey ladies," a man in a white cap smiled, "Why you leavin' so early?"

I rolled my eyes and brushed past the group of 6 men, assuring that my friend was still by my side so neither of us got snatched. South St. was full of freaks at that time of night.

We walked the half a block to our favorite venue to buy tickets for whatever show was on the following night.

This was basically our life. Hanging on South with all the cracked out freaks, hitting up all the bars, and going to shows.

"It's twenty," Trish sighed, "I'm broke as anything! Do you got enough?"

As I shook my head, I watched the man with the white hat jogging towards us, "Maybe we should mug this jackass," I chuckled.

"Ladies, my friends and me wanted to buy ya'll a drink," he smiled before glancing at the marquee, "Ah, getting tickets?"

Trish's brown eyes lit up at the thought of free drinks.

"Sorry, I don't take anything from someone who says "Ya'll". I don't wanna catch your Hick Syndrome, thanks." I mumbled, "As for her, she's grown. She does what she wants."

"Yeah, I'll shill with you and your boys," Trish smiled at the man, "I'm Trish."

"Jordon." he stated as he moved his blue eyes between us, "Are you both going to the show tomorrow, too?"

"We were going to," I sighed, "But we're a but broke."

As much as I hated being social, once I got talking to someone with the same taste in music, I became instantly friendly.

"Ah, damn. I heard they're really good, too," he stated as he glanced at the marquee yet again, "You like them?"

I stared at the name blankly before nodding, "Yeah, actually. I was in L.A. once, and everywhere I went 'Hollywood Undead' was stenciled all over the place. Some weirdo wearing a Del Taco bag on his head gave me a demo disc."

"That's fucking weird," he laughed, "Uh, well, I can get ya'll passes if you want to go..."

"For real?" Trish asked, recieving an assuring nod from our newly found 'friend'.

Jordon walked up to the box office and exchanged a few inaudible words with the clerk before she handed him two tickets.

"One for you, Dearest Trish," he grinned as he handed her a ticket, "And one for..."

"Leah," I finished as he placed the ticket in the palm of my hand, "Thank you loads, dude."

"No big," he shrugged, "But now you gotta come to the pub with my boys. My mate, Matt, want to get at Trish"

-------------------------------

Once we were settled at the bar yet again, Jordon introduced us to his friends - who fit in with the rest of the freaks around here

"So, where are yous from?" I asked before taking a sip of beer, "I've never seen you around here before."

"We're from California," Jorel replied, "L.A."

I looked over the bunch again, taking in all their details. Every last one of them was covered in tattoos. One of them, George, even had a tattoo on his next that was mostly concealed by his white button up shirt.

"Well, yous are a long way from home." I stated.

"We're helping our friends with their tour," Dylan explained as he messed with his curly brown hair, "Well, except Matt. He's the band whore."

The group laughed at Matt's expense, causing him to pout and shift in his seat next to Trish.

"That's true," Jordon said calmly, "He's gone total homo for Charlie Scene. Ain't that right, lil' buddy?"

"Fuck off, Jordon." Matt said simply before going back into his conversation with Trish.

A few hours and many drinks later, we were still at the bar, basking in each others drunken jokes and extreme pervishness.

Dylan and I were bonding by talking about of immigrant parents, Matt and Trish were nowhere to be found, Jordon was passed out on my shoulder, and George, Jorel and Aron were having a drinking competition.

"Let me tell you," I hiccupped as I pointed to Aron, "Your little friend is a fucking tank."

Dylan laughed obnoxiously and mumbled something totally uncomprehensive. Honestly, I don't think he was speaking English at this point.

"Oh, you're gonna throw me one?" Jordon mumbled dreamily, "I got my gat, motherfucker...pow pow pow!"

I squinted my eyes at him as he proceeded to 'shoot' some hater that he was beefin' with in his dream.

As I began to drift to sleep, I leaned my head against Jordon's and used him as a pillow.

"That's gonna cost you," he mumbled before we both entered a dreamy state.


End file.
